There was a time when I was happy, when I was content. The world had not begun playing its torturous games with me yet, nor did I think it ever would.

There was a time when I was happy, when I was content. The world had not begun playing its torturous games with me yet, nor did I think it ever would. It's hard to remember those days now. I've struggled with depression for almost 3 years, and it has only escalated. I am 15 years old and have felt pain more severe than I could have ever imagined. Many of you will know, but depression takes a part of you that seems impossible to get back. It sucks the life, love, and laughter out of you, leaving you with dark and twisted remains. It's like mourning the death of yourself, whilst still living. The pain it brings can't be summed up into '7 signs of depression' or what not, it's more than that, it's indescribable. Personally the worst part about it, is I'm all alone. Sometimes that loneliness is so overwhelming I can't breath. No one can help me, they just make it worse. I hate when people (no matter who they are) try to console me, its so demeaning. When they say "It'll get better", "Just push through", "You'll be okay", it drives me crazy; literally. It's infuriating to me, how people think its so simple. How they think I'm overreacting or I'm just having a bad day. All my days are bad. I can not express how I feel everyday. Like I'm in a room and those walls won't stop caving in, and no matter how hard I try to escape or push back those walls, the ending is inevitable. Eventually, I'll break, even though I'm already broken. No one knows about my suffering, just my two therapists and my doctor, oh and my parents, much to my disapproval. For the first year of my diagnosis my parents were clueless. I went to doctors appointments by myself, psych evaluations on my own, prescription pickups and purchases independantly, and through all the pain alone. I liked it that way. I hate sharing, especially my emotions. One day I got a call from my doctor telling me she was too scared for my safety, so she had to tell my parents what I had been dealing with. Tears streamed down my face, I felt the most painful bruising in my throat as I chocked back the tears to speak. I begged her not to tell them. One day later, my mom went upstairs on a phone call discreetly, I had feared this more than anything. My mom came downstairs crying and asked to talk to me, I ignored her for weeks after that. My doctor had betrayed me. I put my trust into her, I begged her. She let me down, and I hit rock bottom. It has been almost two years since, and I'm still struggling to breathe. I amaze myself by how much pain and anger I can endure. I am truly surprised by the fact that I'm alive today. I am strong, and I know that because I have been to hell and back, hit rock bottom everyday and still am standing. I am not healed, not even close. I won't lie to you and say life is beautiful and it get's better soon, because it doesn't. But life does go on, it did for me. I live with severe pain everyday, and I don't know how long it will last. I am still drowning. I do not yet see the light at the end of the tunnel. Who knows if anyone will even read this? But if you are, I'm writing this so you know you're not alone. I'm writing this so next time you feel helpless, you know that someone understands. Sometimes I need that reminder too. I am speaking to the people out there who have been through more than I wish upon anyone. To the survivors and sufferers who know what its like to feel helpless, lonely, and frightened. I am deeply sorry if you have ever felt the need to hurt yourself, or have. To those who have lost someone to these feelings, and to those who are that someone. I'm writing to me, so I know that I'm gonna be okay. One day.